


new traditions

by toxicpop



Category: Combat Zone Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Christmas Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut, get you a goth gf, oh ny god they were roommates, somebody really fucken loves beetlejuice, wwe 25 days of chrismuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 08:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicpop/pseuds/toxicpop
Summary: what do you do when neither of you really celebrate christmas?





	new traditions

**Author's Note:**

> this is my piece for this year's WWE 25 Days of Chrismuts!! it's been super fun so far. you can check out all the other works at 25daysofchrismuts.tumblr.com

_Wanted: roommate. 2 bd 1 bath, washer/dryer. Downtown area. 540/m plus utilities. Email for inquiries._

  
"How's this look?" Mox asked.

  
Sami squinted at the screen. “Didn't know you knew inquiry was a word. Much less how to spell it." He resumed sorting out his DVDs from the pile on the living room floor. "Is _Night of the Giving Head_ mine or yours?"

  
"Y’rs."

  
"What about _A Cockwork Orange_?"

  
"Also y’rs." Mox frowned at the blinking cursor. Should he add more detail?

  
" _Call of Booty: Black Cocks 2_?”

  
"Jesus Christ, Callihan. Safe t’ assume every porno in th’ house’s y’rs.”

  
“Hey, don’t come cryin’ to me when your favorite titty flick is across the country cause you didn’t speak up.” Sami grinned.

  
“Yeah yeah. Can’t believe I gotta break in a new roommate after I spent all these years gettin’ ya housetrained.”

  
“Hey! I only pissed in the closet one time, and that was after you bet me forty bucks I couldn’t drink that nasty mix you and Vortekz made in the blender with like, every liquor at the party.”

  
Mox gagged a little. “Still can’t believe y’drank th’ whole thing.”

  
“Still can’t believe it didn’t kill me. Are you gonna post that ad or not?”

  
“Should I add anythin' else?” He bit his lip and studied the screen again.

  
“Bring your own hookers and blow,” Sami supplied. “All unattended furniture may be destroyed during parties. No squares allowed.”

  
_Fuck it_ , Mox decided. He clicked submit.

* * *

  
The next day Mox had no less than sixty replies to his ad waiting in his inbox.

  
_I have fourteen cats_ , said one. _Are pets allowed?_

  
_My ideal residence is a drug and alcohol free home. I’m a born again Christian_ , said another.

  
He read through reply after reply from all sorts of people that Mox couldn’t imagine living with for a day, much less the foreseeable future. Finally only one email remained and he steeled himself for more of the same.

  
_Hello! My name is Claire. I’m a mortician at Ravensbrook Funeral Home here in town. I saw your ad and I’m very interested in the room you have available! Would you possibly be willing to schedule a visit where I could take a look?_ She listed her contact information, followed with a polite closing.

  
“Huh,” Mox said to himself. He found himself typing out a response immediately, offering a few dates and times he’d be free to show the place.

* * *

  
He'd spent the entire day cleaning in preparation for Claire’s visit, even going so far as to light a couple candles and open the curtains. Mox wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him to make a good first impression. He’d even threatened Sami with bodily harm if any of his hard work was to mysteriously come undone. Mox guessed it was worry that the one possibly decent potential roommate he’d found wouldn’t want to stay. The apartment was the first halfway nice place he’d ever lived, but the rent was a little much for one person. Without Sami he’d have to leave too, and he shuddered to imagine living in some of the one-person shitboxes he’d called home over the years again. Finally at five o’clock on the dot, he heard someone knock. He smoothed his unruly hair one last time and answered the door.

  
The woman on the other side was busy fighting the zipper on her coffin-shaped bag and apparently didn’t notice the door open. Mox took a moment to just look at her. Her outfit almost reminded him of Lydia Deetz- wide brimmed black hat complete with veil, long black dress, lots of eyeliner. She finally got her bag zipped closed with a victorious little “hah!” and then seemed to realize Mox was waiting in front of her.

  
“Oh! Sorry, I thought I would never get the stupid thing shut. Hi, I’m Claire. You must be Mox?”

  
“I am. Nice t' meet ya, c'mon in an' have a look.” He stood aside and she breezed in, deftly tucking her veil up and out of the way across the brim of her hat. “Sami's out next week, th' room’s pretty much packed up if y'wanna see it.”

  
“Would you mind?”

  
“Nah, this way.” He led her down the hall and past the bathroom where Sami was sorting out the last of his things. Claire made a few thoughtful noises while Mox pointed out the closet space and the freshly steam cleaned carpet. He didn’t figure she needed to know he’d literally twisted Sami's arm to clean it, so he didn’t mention that bit.

  
“Shit, you ain’t mentioned Elvira was scoutin’ the place,” Sami said out of the side of his mouth. Mox wasn’t expecting him at his elbow so he jumped a little, but then gave him a murderous look as what Callihan said sank in.

  
“Shut up!” he hissed. Claire didn’t seem to notice their exchange as she scribbled notes into a little book.

  
“I’m just sayin’, man. Goth chicks are fuckin’ wild in the sack. Wednesday Addams there could probably rock your world.”

  
“Callihan!” It came out with more volume than he intended and Claire looked up. Mox cleared his throat. “Uh, this is Sami Callihan, who’s movin’ out. Sami, this is Claire.” He gave Sami a look that he hoped said _if you say something weird they will never find your body_ and tried to accept the possibility of homicide in his future.

  
“Pleased to meet you. Forgive me for not stickin’ around to chat, I gotta load up these boxes.” Sami clapped Mox on the back. “Moxley's a great dude to live with. Never known anyone so good at cleanin’ blood outta carpet.” Sami had the nerve to grin, the asshole, and excused himself.

  
Claire, to his surprise, just laughed. “Not a bad skill to have. Try getting embalming fluid out of suede, now that’s a nightmare.”

  
“Sorry ‘bout him. Really can’t take him anywhere.” Mox felt the tips of his ears pinking up. “Was hoping he'd behave f’r company but I shoulda known better.”

  
“He’s not so bad. The girl I’m living with now hisses like a cat and tries to scratch you if you touch anything of hers. Which is why I think I’d like to take the room, if you’re agreeable.”

  
“Wait, really?”

  
“Yeah, definitely. Unless you’re some kind of serial killer or you’re gonna try to harvest my organs.”

  
“With Sami leavin', all ya insides oughta stay right where ya left ‘em,” he joked.

  
The two of them settled in the living room to iron out details and house rules, and before he knew it two whole hours had passed. Mox wanted to wrap things up before Sami could get back and say something stupid again so when Claire gathered her things to leave he quickly scribbled down his phone number and handed it to her.

  
“Any other questions, feel free t’ call or text. Callihan's leavin' out next Thursday an’ I’m free Saturday an’ Sunday so I can help ya move stuff if need be.”

  
“Oh, thanks! I might take you up on that.” She paused. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m really weird with touching the living.”

  
“Oh thank god,” Mox sighed. “Touchin' creeps me out like y’wouldn’t believe. Fistbump t' seal th’ deal instead?”

  
“You’re something else,” Claire laughed, gently tapping her knuckles against his bruised ones. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

  
Sure enough, Callihan made his reappearance as Mox walked her out. Sami met them at the bottom of the stairs.

  
“Leavin' so soon?”

  
“Yeah,” Claire replied, “it’s about to get dark and I need to finish packing if I’m moving in next week. It was nice to meet you! Thanks for the compliments!”

  
“Compliments?” Sami looked confused.

  
“I mean, I see myself more as a Morticia than a Wednesday, but being called an Addams is high praise! As far as the other part, well…” She winked. “I’ve had no complaints. Bye, Mox. I’ll be in touch.” She swept past Sami and out the door to the parking lot. The second the door clicked shut Mox fairly exploded with laughter. Sami opened and closed his mouth a few times but nothing came out.

  
“Teach ya t' talk shit,” Mox wheezed after he could finally control himself. He'd laughed so hard he was crying a little. “Wish y'could see ya face. God, she got ya good.”

  
“Shut up, asshole,” Sami grumbled, stomping up the stairs.

* * *

  
It was almost surreal how easy it was living with someone like Claire. With her it was like everything just clicked into place. If she cooked, he washed the dishes. She vacuumed, he dusted up high where she couldn’t reach. He called her Tish (short for Morticia, much to her amusement) and she had several fond insults repurposed as nicknames she used for him. They shared a lot of common interests, from cheesy cult movies to favorite (and least favorite) holidays. She opened up one evening during 31 Nights of Halloween to confess she couldn’t stand Christmas.

  
“Are you fucking shitting me? _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , really? Look, just because it has Halloween thematic elements doesn’t make it a Halloween movie!” she fussed at the television.

  
“Tell me how ya really feel,” Mox joked.

  
“No, really! The vast majority of it is focused on Jack trying to take over Christmas. Halloween is barely a setting at best, it’s just a creepy Christmas movie. Stupid Christmas ruins everything.”

  
“Y'don’t like Christmas?”

  
“It was never a good time growing up, always more bad memories than good,” she explained, channel surfing to find something more seasonally appropriate. “I don’t celebrate it now, honestly I’d rather pretend it didn’t exist.”

  
“Understandable. Me an’ Callihan used t' go in on a dangerous amount ‘a whiskey an’ jus' drink our way through th’ whole thing. S'jus’ a shitty holiday anyhow.” Mox finished his beer and motioned for Claire's empty bottle. “Want another while ‘m up?”

  
Just like that. Easy. She got him in a way no one ever had before.

  
It shouldn’t have surprised him when he caught feelings.

* * *

  
“Mox.”

  
“Hm?”

  
“I think you’re bleeding on the couch.”

  
He sat up and twisted to check the sloppy line of stitches on the left side of his ribs from his run in with a broken dinner plate during his match earlier in the night, wincing as the skin pulled against the thread and a fresh ooze of blood dripped down his side. Claire made a face. “Son of a bitch,” he sighed. “Grab me a paper towel? Room's still kinda spinny.”

  
“Who did those bullshit stitches?” Claire asked over her shoulder on her way into the kitchen. “A child? I’ve seen first time med students do a better job.”

  
Mox grinned a little. “Harder to hit a moving target. Don’t sit still.”

  
“ _Moxley_.” She sounded exasperated. The entire roll of paper towels sailed over the bar and whapped him in the face. “At least clean the couch, you nasty little gremlin.”

  
“Y'love me an' ya know it, Tish.” He hissed through his teeth as he mopped blood off his side. “God, this shit aches. We got any Jack left?” Brief sounds of rummaging and cabinets opening filled the silence before he heard Claire call, “Outta luck. Looks like you drank the last of my tequila too, asshole.”

  
“Motherfucker.” Mox fished in his pockets for a wad of bills. “I’ll buy if ya fly?”

  
Claire peeked around the corner. “Only if you buy mine too.”

  
“Deal.”

  
He busied himself with flipping channels while she was out, settling on a Gravity Falls marathon for lack of better options. Cryptids tended to hold his attention fairly well anyway. When Claire returned quite a while later with familiar black plastic bags in tow, she found him entirely absorbed in the cartoon.

  
“God, I always forget how shitty traffic gets this close to Christmas,” she groused. “Here’s your booze.”

  
“Ya fuckin' angel,” he said, gratefully accepting his whiskey. “Check this shit out, this show is pretty fuckin’ neato.” He caught her up on the plot so far between healthy pulls of Jack while she mixed herself a drink, and by the time she settled onto the other end of the couch with her cocktail he was well on his way to drunk.

  
“Feeling any better?” she asked.

  
“Still hurts,” he grunted. “Fuck, I need t’ be horizontal but I don’t wanna crowd ya. Can I-“ Claire waved away the rest of his words and patted her thigh.

  
“Come on, stretch out.”

  
“Y' sure? I know y' don’t usually do th’ touchin'.”

  
“It's fine, you need to rest. Lie down.” Her tone brooked no argument. Mox tentatively settled in to rest his head in her lap, though his legs hung over the other arm of the couch due to his height.

  
“Better?”

  
“Much.” He sighed when he felt her fingers comb through his hair and a gentle ripple of arousal flickered down his spine. “Mm, that’s nice too. Like bein' petted.”

  
“Hush. Watch the show.” She kept stroking his hair with the same gentle cadence and his eyes grew heavy. He was so tired, maybe he’d just close them for a moment...

  
“Wake up, Jon. Time for bed.”

  
He started, fists up out of habit before he realized where he was. Claire made a soothing noise and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

  
“Only me. It’s after midnight, come on. I’ll help you to your room.”

  
“Sore,” he rasped. God, everything about him ached and the stitches were constant pinpricks of pain.

  
“I know. Let’s get you to bed and I’ll get you some water.”

  
She got him down the hall and into bed and Mox tried to get comfortable while she fetched him a drink. Once he’d gulped down the whole glass, she turned to leave and Mox fumbled to catch her wrist. He didn’t miss how she flinched at his sudden touch.

  
“Wait,” he said softly. “Stay?”

  
“Stay?”

  
“Please? ’M hurtin’. Don't wanna be alone.” He felt fucking pitiful saying it.

  
“Okay, okay.” To his great surprise, she toed off her shoes and allowed him to pull her into bed beside him.

“Turn over, you shouldn’t lie on your stitches.” She tugged him flush to her chest once he obeyed, effectively spooning him. Mox made a small contented sound.

  
“Like bein’ held too,” he slurred, sleep threatening to take him again. “Don’t trust anyone else t' do it though. Y'r always good t' me.”

  
“Shhh.” Claire petted his hair again, her touch feather-light. Mox fell asleep to the sound of her humming something softly in his ear.

* * *

  
The next morning Mox woke to an empty bed and a note on the kitchen counter from Claire saying she’d been called in to work. _Somebody got some fuckin’ nerve t’ die on Christmas Eve_ , he thought. He helped himself to a few bracing shots of Jack to medicate his still-complaining side and ambled out to get the mail in pajama pants and bare feet. It was mostly junk, a few letters for Claire and what looked like a Christmas card from Sami and his new girlfriend. Mox locked the mailbox shut and turned to drag himself back up the stairs when he felt something under his foot, paper and something pointy. When he stepped back, he saw one of Claire's bat charms had fallen off her bag onto a flyer for pictures with Santa at the mall. The Santa hat on the flyer almost lined up with the bat’s head. Mox picked up the charm and was struck with a sudden idea. His eyes widened.

  
“S’perfect,” he breathed, and all but ran back upstairs to get dressed.

* * *

  
“Hey fucker, I’m home- what’s all this?” Claire froze just inside the apartment. Mox, caught hanging the last few ornaments, hurriedly threw them onto the tree.

  
“Shit, I was hopin' I’d be done before y'got home.” He backed off a bit to let her get the full effect as she stepped closer A black tree towered in the corner of the living room, covered in tinsel, fake spiderwebs, and glittery orange bats. Other Halloween themed odds and ends were crammed onto almost every available branch and a sequined green spider served as the star. Mox had even borrowed Claire’s bat ear headband to wear while he was decorating, even though he knew he probably looked like a disaster with no shirt and a pair of pajama pants that hung low on his hips to complete the getup.

  
“Listen, I…” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know y’ don’t care much f’r Christmas, an' I get it. It sucks. But I hate t’ see ya lose out on a holiday. So, happy second Halloween.”

  
Claire seemed lost for words. Tears welled in her eyes and Mox felt his heart sink.

  
“Aw, Tish, don’t cry. I’ll take it all down if y’hate it.”

  
“No, it’s wonderful,” she said with a sniffle. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” She glanced over at the hallway door frame. “Is that mistletoe? Why is it painted black?”

  
“Mistletoe’s f’r Christmas. That’s mistle-foe. Y'gotta fight whoever's under it.” Mox grinned when she punched his shoulder. “Borrowed a bunch‘a decorations from CZ, almos' nothin’ that had blood on it.” Her laugh was magical.

  
“This is perfect. Can we watch _Beetlejuice?”_

  
“Course, ‘s Michael Keaton's best role. Change outta y'r work clothes an’ I’ll set up.”

* * *

 

  
Mox nearly choked on his beer when Claire rejoined him in the living room wearing a barely-decent satin nightgown that brushed her mid-thigh under a black lace kimono-style robe. She settled in to his right and accepted the other beer he had waiting for her with a happy little sound that had Mox unexpectedly fighting a very confusing boner.

  
“When I was growing up, I was never allowed to watch this movie. Now it always feels naughty when I see it.” Mox groaned inwardly at her choice of words. His brain jumped at the chance to conjure up some filthy scenarios while the first half of the first act played out on the screen, her in his lap with the hem of her nightie creeping up her thighs or her under him with her clothes abandoned to his bedroom floor or-

  
“Mox? You in there?”

  
He felt the flush in his cheeks as he realized she was addressing him. “Huh? Sorry, must'a zoned f’r a minute.” She looked up at him through her lashes and fidgeted with her robe a bit.

  
“I was trying to ask, well, it's been a long day, and I’m tired, and I was wondering if I could, um.” Her voice dropped to almost a mumble. “Like cuddle, but not in a weird way or anything.” He'd never seen her this flustered before and he bit back a whimper as his body begged _yes, touch me, touch me_. Mox didn’t trust his words not to betray him so he simply draped his arm over her shoulders and let her tuck herself into his uninjured side.

  
“Sometimes you really want physical contact but it’s hard to find someone you trust enough,” she said almost into his chest. “I know you won’t hurt me. Thank you.”

  
“Welcome,” Mox managed. “Y'safe with me.” _Fuckin’ kill anyone who tried t’ hurt ya_. His breath caught in his throat when she laced her fingers through his and rested her head on his shoulder. He tried, and failed, not to watch how the trim of her panties peeked out when she drew her knees up to fold her legs onto the couch cushions. God, she smelled so good. Mox dropped his head against the back of the couch and tried to focus on the movie, the tree, anything that would keep him from fucking up the moment with his stupid feelings and his stupid libido.

  
Claire promptly dissolved into laughter when Beetlejuice kicked over the tree and honked his nuts. “I swear, I didn’t know that part was in this until I was in my twenties,” she giggled. “Guess I had only ever seen the TV edit or something. I was laughing so hard I had to leave the room.”

  
Mox made a noncommittal sound. “Guy's got a point. They summon him an’ then dip out, I’d be pissed too.”

  
“Such a great character. This really is his best role.” She snuggled into his side a bit more. He allowed himself to trace little circles and loops on her shoulder with the fingers on his free hand for a while, wondering briefly if she could hear his heartbeat pick up when she made a small contented noise. When she raised their joined hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles he had to clench his teeth to hold back his moan.

  
“Jon? You okay? You’re really tense.” God, this wasn’t fucking fair. She couldn’t just look up at him with those big doe eyes like that and expect him not to feel anything at all. _Fuck it_ , he thought.

  
“Tell me t’ stop,” he breathed, and kissed her.

  
Mox didn’t miss how she surrendered to him without even the slightest protest, just a breathless little “ _oh_ ” before she was kissing him back. Her perfume settled into him like the high after a fight. He wasn’t sure when she’d shifted onto her knees and straddled his thigh, but his cock definitely noticed when she got her hands into his hair and tugged.

  
“Ah, y'can't-“ he tried to say before her lips found his throat. _“Fuck,_ not fair, not fair…” The heat of her skin burned through his thin pajama pants as she gently rocked her hips against him. When he felt her teeth Mox wondered briefly how much Sami would rip on him at the funeral if he died right then and there.

  
“Want you,” she sighed. “Want you so much.”

  
“Bedroom?”

  
“Yes, God, please.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he stood, fighting the weakness in his knees when he felt her nails tease across his shoulders.

  
“Mine ‘r y'rs, doll?” God, he could fuck her right here with her legs around his waist for all he cared.

  
“Yours is closer. Just take me to bed.”

  
Mox managed to navigate the hallway with minor difficulty and deposited her on his bed. Claire bit down on her fist to muffle herself when he shoved her panties aside and licked a slow, teasing path over her slit.

  
“C'mon, doll. Wanna hear ya.” She whined, one hand finding its way back to his hair to guide him where she wanted him.

  
“Jus' gonna use m’ mouth t' get off, doll?” he growled, easing a finger into her. “Gonna come f'r me before I get this dick in that sweet little pussy?” He couldn’t control the filth pouring out of him any more than he could control how his cock throbbed with every sound she made. “Yeah, y’gonna come all over m' face, I can fuckin’ taste it.” He slid another finger into her and laughed breathlessly. “God damn, y'so fuckin’ tight. Y'gonna make me wanna come fuckin’ quick.”

  
“Jon, please!” she cried, almost yanking his hair. He hissed at the pain.

  
“Fuck, y’don’t even know what that does t' me. Naughty fuckin' thing.” He could hear how close she was, could feel her slick dripping down his hand and he worked her a little harder with fingers and tongue until she was writhing and gasping his name.

  
“Come f'r me,” he encouraged. “Come f'r me, y'fuckin' know y'wanna come f’r me.”

  
“Fuck! Jon, I'm…!” Just hearing her come had him panting and moaning as if she was coming apart on his cock. She dragged him up for a kiss, fighting with the tie on his pants.

  
“Get these off and fuck me,” she demanded. “Fucking need you.”

  
“I gotcha, doll. Gonna take care’a ya.” He couldn’t resist licking a stripe up her cheek before fighting out of his pants. “Y'taste so god damn good, 'm fuckin' drunk on ya.” He eased her up just enough to get her out of her clothes and she lifted her hips to help him slide her panties off.

  
_“God,_ y'fuckin' beautiful,” he said softly, taking a moment to drink in how gorgeous she looked against the contrast of the sheets. “How y'want it, doll?”

  
“Just like this. Want to see you.” She kissed him again, more gently this time. “Wait, will it hurt your stitches?”

  
“Fuck th’ stitches,” he said, settling between her thighs and teasing her still-sensitive clit with the head of his cock. “Don’t fuckin' care.”

  
“Just be careful. Don’t want you to hurt yourself- oh, _fuck…”_ Her nails dug into his back as he carefully slid into her heat. His hands tightened on her hips and he choked out a moan.

  
“God damn, that pussy's fuckin’ tight. So fuckin’ wet f'r me.” He fucked into her slowly, willing himself to last long enough to make her come again. Her legs wrapped tight around his hips and she bucked against him.

  
“Driving me fucking crazy, fuck me like you mean it!” God, he almost wanted to come already but he was going to make her come again or die trying. He dropped his forehead to her chest, mouthing over her breasts and fucking into her a little harder.

  
“Y'gonna lemme put some marks on ya?” He grazed over her nipple with his teeth, drawing a low whine out of her. “Y’better put some on me, want everybody t' know I'm fuckin’ _yours.”_

  
“Yes, please, f-fuck, Jon…” She slid one hand between them to play with her clit, the other tangling in his hair and guiding him to her neck. “Here, please, here...” Mox nipped at her gently before bringing a lurid mark into bloom on her skin. Claire pulled at his hair again hard enough to really hurt and Mox made an absolutely pornographic noise.

  
“Not fair, doll, can’t do that t' me when we’re fuckin’ if y'want me t' last.”

  
“Getting close,” she said with a moan. “Jon, you feel so fucking good, wanna make you come...” She had him coming undone so fast he could barely keep himself under control long enough to get her off again.

  
“Want ya t' fuckin' come f'r me. Wanna feel ya come on m’ fuckin’ cock before I fill that sweet little pussy up.” He fucked into her as hard as he dared without losing the battle with his own orgasm. “Come f'r me one more time, doll.”

  
“Jon, gonna- oh fuck, I’m gonna come, don’t stop!”

  
“Come f'r me like a good girl,” he snarled. “Fuckin’ come f’r me!” Claire nearly screamed, her cunt impossibly tight around his cock as she came. Mox wasn’t sure how he managed to managed to keep from coming even with his eyes threatening to roll back in his head.

  
“Good girl, so fuckin’ pretty when y'come apart f’r me,” he gasped.

  
“Your turn,” she panted, a wicked grin on her face. Mox was about to ask what exactly she meant when her teeth sank into his neck.

  
_“Hah,_ fuck!” He couldn’t hold out any longer. Mox drove into her as deep as he could and came so fucking hard his vision went a little dark around the edges.

  
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped when he could put a sentence together again.

  
“Agreed,” Claire said dreamily. “God, I think I fucking love you.”

  
Mox's heart skipped a beat. “Y-yeah?”

  
“Yeah.” She smiled at him brighter than the goddamn sun before the clock on his nightstand caught her eye. “Hey, it’s after midnight. Merry Christmas, Jon.”

  
“Happy second Halloween, Tish.” He dropped onto the mattress beside her and pulled her into his arms. “Y'know y'get presents f'r second Halloween, right? An’ all kinds'a candy too.”

  
“Oh fuck yeah. Does second Halloween do stockings?”

  
“Nah, trick-or-treat pumpkins. Haven’t figured out exactly who brings th’ presents but ‘m thinkin’ it’s Dracula. Bats pullin’ his sleigh an’ shit.”

  
“Better go to sleep then, he might suck our blood if he gets here and we're awake.”

  
“I can think'a somethin’ else he can suck if he tried t’ get me outta this bed right now.”

  
_“Moxley.”_

 


End file.
